


Apogee

by k1ttypryde67



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k1ttypryde67/pseuds/k1ttypryde67
Summary: A follow up to Stephenie Meyer's Breaking Dawn, whilst imagining that all were killed in the final battle except for Renesmee and Jacob. Also other stuff has been rejigged etc xx





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up to Stephenie Meyer's Breaking Dawn, whilst imagining that all were killed in the final battle except for Renesmee and Jacob. Also other stuff has been rejigged etc xx

The distance from Forks, Washington, to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, is 6,994 miles as the crow flies. Or as the wolf runs. A werewolf would make short work of the 11,256 km, or 6,074 nautical miles, between the ending of one world and the beginning of another. He could swim. Or she could. Or they. 

Actually, the ability of a wolf to swim between the two locations is probably definite, rather than conditional. The superpower of flight has not yet entered into the capabilities of the wolves. Of my wolves. I wonder if I could fly? I could probably do some controlled jumping…like Jessica Jones. But I couldn’t jump as high, as far, as some. As some…The ability to jump doesn’t seem to make it past the end of the mortal coil, unfortunately. Or the immortal coil. If an immortal dies, it seems reductive to continue to refer to them as such. It would be a misnomer. A mis. Nomer. 

If a mother dies, is she still a mother? ‘To mother’ is a verb. An active one. It seems that someone must be alive in order to perform it. Or undead, at the very least. ‘To father’ isn’t really usable beyond conception. Figures. But ‘to be a father’. Parenthood definitely seems to be predicated on existence. My father didn’t believe in the afterlife for our kind. For their kind. For the kind that comprises half of me. Five of my toes. One of my eyes. When I think about my parenthood I imagine a line splitting down the centre of my body, from the top of my head down to the bottoms of my feet. The feet that are hard, but soft. A contradiction. Like me. Like parents who have lost the ability to parent.

Like rulers who can no longer rule. My eidetic memory is not restricted to the metric and the imperial. Would that it were. As it is, the glossy, granite-like chunks that scattered the snowy landscape have taken high-definition root in my mind. The pillars and tendrils of smoke that curled towards the pale white sky like…like… actually, I can’t think of a point of comparison. I blame lack of experience. I really need to watch more TV. 

Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. The sound of the wolf that was carrying me. The sound of his giant paws beating the earth in a violent, but regular manner. The sound of a beating heart. Two beating hearts left the field of the scattered granite. The granite that was…surprisingly flammable. To be fair, only about twelve beating hearts entered. The others’ final exit was ultimately as silent as their arrival. 

A massacre. What’s the name of a massacre in which those that were massacred reciprocated? Retaliated. Obtained retribution. Even as the discrete members of my family were burned out of immortality, the marks they had made on their opponents were clear. And what was left to do? Strike a match. Toss it. Let it arch through the air. Jacob’s thumbs in wolf form were surprisingly opposable. But he shifted, of course. To see them burn. To dig desperately through the rubble of all that I belonged to. Of all who belonged to me. It took him…a moment. Dealing with human emotions in a human body is not the wolfie way. Or the Wolfe way. Hah. 

Lots of emotions passed through Jacob’s face as he stood there, surveying the plain. Humour was not one of them. Shock was, as the full weight of all that was now gone from the air drifted towards him like poisoned gas. Pain, as it hit. Horror, as he realised that, in contrast to the clarity gained from the smaller number of our people, there was no real way for him to know who had survived amongst the vastness of those who wished us harm. Finally, comprehension, as he tore through the backpack that had been cast aside in the melee. The backpack that my mother had packed for me, maybe on her last day of existence. The backpack that contained directions. It was then that he shifted once more. Bounded towards me, standing there, not tall enough to distinguish between the piles of smouldering bodies. 

Once I was on his back, he started running. Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.


	2. chapter two

‘More than my own life’. The phrase ran through my head. My parents’ lives ended in vivisection and flames. What’s more than that? If the bodies scattered across the field in which my parents had fallen in love were in fact scattered because of me…a field of dead people is clearly greater than two among its number. Torture refracted through my own personal lense was in fact more than my mother’s own life. Against the ground, my wolf continued to run. 

Jacob was traveling in a clear diagonal towards the South East. Through Idaho. Across Wyoming. I suggested I Spy, but my lupine friend didn’t seem to respond to the idea. The long march of the states continued. ColoradoKansasOklahomaLouisiana. Say it three times fast. The signs bled together as my eyelids fluttered shut and I slumped forward. 

Vampires can’t sleep. Vampires can’t dream. I can do both. Unfortunately. Unfortunately for me, and for the friend to whom my hand was broadcasting all the delights of my unconscious mind. The editing skills of the unconscious is truly remarkable. In my original experience of events, there had been far less screaming. 

I was woken by the rumbling of my stomach, and a simultaneous burning thirst that consumed my throat. Yet another reminder of the deep contradictions of my existence. Still. Needs must.

‘Jake?’, I called out.

Silence. I tried again, this time transmitting a stream of images that included, but were not limited to: a burger, a glass of blood, a steak, a bottle of blood. Sausages. A carafe. Of blood. This time, a deeper rumbling answered mine; although it was met with a quiet growl that expressed my friend’s disgust at my choice of beverage. Grudgingly and gradually we slowed and changed tack, eventually emerging from the wooded area in which we were running onto a patch of deserted motorway. Not bothering to phase in the cover of the trees was unusually reckless, even for Jake. As we ran towards a lonely diner, I slipped off Jake’s back and ran alongside him. I sensed him change form, and inferred that his fluid and practiced action of pulling on tracksuit bottoms on the go had occurred, mainly from the not illegal state in which we both arrived at the entrance to the establishment.


	3. chapter three

The worn leather seats of the booth in which we sat were comforting. Moulded for a human sitting to enjoy a meal; they matched an experience delightfully different from my current one. As it was, the gloom of my internal monologue seemed to be reflected in the faded décor of the diner. The fluorescent lighting blinked, and the public noticeboard hung almost empty. The few remaining flyers pinned to the board advertised ancient events, the no doubt inadequacy of which had already faded in the minds of their attendees. The sequestered nature of the local advertising scene was matched by the diner itself, all other booths and seats of which lay unpatronised. 

‘This place is buzzing!’, I remarked to Jake. ‘Lucky we got a seat!’

Jake glared up at me, his bloodshot eyes souring his usually sunny face.

‘Nessie…much as I usually enjoy your attempts at humour, however ill-fated, now really isn’t the time.’

‘Why? If you can’t laugh after the complete massacre of everyone you’ve ever known, when can you?’

I winked, feeling the stirrings of devastation in my stomach, and repressing them instantly. Jake sighed, rubbing his face with both hands as he leaned his elbows on the table. Whilst the presence of his trousers prevented outright rage from the owner of the establishment, Jake’s naked chest stuck out, rich brown that it was against the seat’s faded beige. The manager’s glares to that effect weren’t going unnoticed, but I was beginning to get the hang of ignoring the obvious.

I stared at him, imploring him, dragging him onto the plain of false positivity on which I now found myself. He sighed, yet again, but at the same time finally began to respond. Squaring his shoulders, Jake reached for the filmy, laminated menu on the table in front of us, casting a dark eye over its contents.

‘No glasses of blood, I’m afraid. Or bottles’, he observed. ‘I can ask about the carafe?’

‘No need’, I responded, relieved he was finally reacting to his environment in some way not indicative of major clinical depression. ‘I’ve always wanted to try pancakes, myself’.

‘Pancakes it is,’ he said, trying to hide the reaction in his eyes. Jake forgets, sometimes, about my relative youth. To be fair, so do I. The fact that I was born merely six months ago is certainly difficult to reconcile with my physical presence, currently resembling that of a child in her late single figures. According to Carlisle’s research and calculations, I should reach maturity at exactly one year old. The research he had done prior to his demise was largely unsubstantiated. However, the extent and diversity of relatively similar accounts was sufficient for him to have a fairly clear idea of the specificities of my growth. One year, from birth to adulthood. Kids grow up so fast. 

The fact that my body was fast on its way to adulthood, and my mind even faster, however, was lost on the manager of the diner in which we found ourselves. She had taken our order, barely bothering to conceal the looks of doubt that she cast over me and my companion. Now she returned, this time carrying a plate in each hand. Both were stacked with pancakes, whose size attempted to make up for their pallid appearance. I tasted the air. Aside from the cheap nylon of the disturbingly cheerful yellow apron worn by the manager, distinct flavours of refined sugar and saturated fats drifted over from the plates. Idly, I wondered whether the nutritional content of any food that I ate affected me at all. There seems to be a single state to which I am rapidly growing, I reasoned. Further, the speed of my growth seemed sufficiently powerful so as not to be affected by any lack of observance towards my five a day. Shrugging, I dug in, my stomach now having graduated from a grumble to a growl. Huh. Saturated fats are good. What a discovery. I looked up towards Jake, wondering if this novel experience was affecting him as positively as it was me. He sat, immobile, staring at a piece of pancake on his plastic fork with a furrow in his brow. A furrow which was deceptively deep, in contrast to the permanent youth which his wolfy status granted him. 

‘Come on, Jake’, I said now, gentler than before. ‘You gotta eat. You love eating! It comes so naturally to you!’

As I said this, I gently kicked his shin under the table. 

‘I just…ugh. I keep…reliving it’. 

I sighed. ‘I…get it. I do. But dude. You’re running across continents. You need to eat. Plus…’, I hesitated, questioning the validity of what I was about to say. Jacob tilted his head slightly, questioning my pause. Inwardly, I smiled. He looked so much like a puppy when he did that. 

‘What happened…it was enormous. Awesome, meaning inspiring of awe instead of great. Incredible, meaning hard to believe rather than fantastic.’

He rolled his eyes at my meandering. The slight nod to his usual sarcastic demeanour was reassuring.

‘I just mean…we cannot comprehend it. Or digest it. Or process it. And we have to run. Far! From we don’t know who! We don’t even know why she…why Rio is our destination! I can’t…begin to deal with what happened. I don’t think you can either. Actually, I don’t think I’ll be able to start processing until I can find a small hole to crawl into and hide for a few decades. I can’t feel this right now. So I’m not going to. Repression works for the British, so I hear.’ 

Jacob tilted his head to the other side now. Doubt and thoughtfulness battled for dominance across his features. Finally, they settled into a hesitant resolution. 

‘Fine. I’ll try to…think of other things. As much as I can. Like…sports. I hear people enjoy those.’

‘That’s all I ask.’

‘But…Nessie. I can’t. I can’t stop reliving it. I can’t stop…feeling like this. Ugh.’

I set my jaw. 

‘I know. Neither can I. But…I can pretend like hell.’

He smiled then.

‘You’re too young to use the phrase ‘like hell’. Where did you even hear it?’

I assumed the guise of playful offense.

‘Contrary to popular belief, I actually have eyes. And ears. And the ability to use those eyes and ears to…collect information.’

‘Huh’, he replied, a twinkle coming into his eye. A small twinkle. A twitch of whimsy. But a twinkle. ‘Who’da thunk’. 

‘Indeed’, I replied, answering the twinkle with cheerfulness of my own. Again, small cheerfulness. Fake, even. But still.

‘So – enjoying your journey away from the most organic meals Forks has to offer? I should think so. The all-American experience isn’t complete without a dip into the den of calorific additives that we call sustenance.’ 

‘Hmm, yes, actually. A lot. The den of calorific additives tastes an awful lot like maple syrup.’

This was good. Pretending was good. 

The manager returned now. For the first time, I noticed the name on the tag pinned to her top. In the orange comic sans used by a graphic designer who had dropped out of university, the badge read ‘Isabella’. Ouch. Trying to both cover up my pain, and prevent Jacob from noticing and having to experience it, I reached for the attempts at humour that were fast becoming a regular crutch.

‘Anything else?’, she asked.

‘Do you have anything…red?’ I enquired, winking at Jake as…the manager…cast her eyes about in irritation. 

‘Red?’, she replied in a bored tone. Over her shoulder, Jake rolled his eyes in mock disgust.

‘Yes, red. And warm.’

‘As a general rule, I work off names. Of actual drinks. That people tell me.’

‘Okay. Thanks anyway.’

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, and drifted back towards the counter.

‘Huh! Someone’s grumpy!’ Jacob observed.

‘I know! You’d think she just watched her entire family get murdered!’

‘You’d think!’, Jake replied, slightly less enthusiastic. He was trying for me. I hoped he was trying for him, too. 

‘Well. We don’t know, I guess. I mean, I’ve only been in this diner twenty minutes and already I want to kill myself. I can’t even imagine working here’.

His features softened. 

‘I know! I mean the mismatched décor, alone…’

He continued talking, but the words faded from my comprehension. Décor. Interior design. Alice. My mother…had wanted us to find Alice.


	4. chapter four

Alice. The name thrummed through my head, matching the speed of my fingers which I was tapping against the table. Alice, who had held me from birth. Alice, who had loved me. Alice, who had left. Even remembering the name brought back feelings of anger and abandonment, distant as they were, distorted by the comparatively immature mind that had thought them. 

Alice’s sudden departure, coupled with her clairvoyant tendencies, had led the majority of the Cullens to perceive their plight as a hopeless one. Of course, this had been correct. But say there had been alternate reasons for her flight. Say…say Alice hadn’t left to run away from one thing, but towards another. Something that she thought could help. Clearly, if that had been her motivation, it had been a deeply misguided one. And yet Alice and Jasper had declared their plans to visit Rio the night before everything had started. Almost as though they wanted it to…be heard by us. To be noted. And my mother wouldn’t send us after a traitor. 

I decided not to mention this to Jake. Not until we got significantly farther along our journey, at least. He, too, had felt the sting of Alice’s perceived betrayal. My speculations may drive him onto another path altogether. 

‘Ready to go?’, he asked now, wiping his hands on the grubby napkin that lay beside his plate. This was just out of habit, of course. If all went to plan, Jacob’s paws would soon be once more moving over acres of unsanitised land. If all had gone to plan. 

‘Yes’, I nodded, standing up too. I idly looked around for the manager, but she was strangely absent from the room. Hmm. Odd. 

Jacob noticed my search. ‘Where could Isabella have gone, do you think?’, he questioned. Huh. So he had noticed her name. 

Before I could answer, Jake held up a single finger to silence me. Looking around at the door, I questioned what sound had been so quiet that my advanced hearing had not picked up on it. The hearing of a full blooded vampire is slightly yet surely superior to that of a werewolf, although the latter remains significantly removed from the dull senses possessed by humans. However, and deeply annoyingly, it appeared that those of a vampire-human half-breed were slightly inferior again. Perhaps by no more than a single percent or two, but still. Annoying. So it was with confusion but not surprise that I read the trepidation that was growing on Jacob’s face. 

As it was, the sound itself was ultimately revealed to be far from innately small. Instead, Jacob had heard something that, at the start of his hearing it, had been a great distance away. However, as time went on, the sound grew. And its cause got closer.


End file.
